


Mind Control

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Show) [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Mind Control, Torture, Trauma, accidental abuse, unspecified monster, why is that a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Based vaguely off the trance in The Last Wish where Geralt beats up a bunch of villagers, I wondered what might happen if he went after Jaskier instead.
Series: Witcher (Show) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624300
Comments: 40
Kudos: 384





	1. Chapter 1

Geralt lowered his blade, blinking in the bright light.

The monster lay in multiple pieces on the floor in front of him, its blood beginning to glint in the light. He could barely remember the fight, the contract, the monster- it all muddied together.

He rubbed his head and scowled, blinking in the dim light and trying to remember what had happened. He’d taken a contract, yes?

There’d been a monster in an old house, someone wanted to move in, monster in the way, Witcher comes along - it was a classic tale. He’d lived it a thousand times over.

Jaskier- the bard was there somewhere. He remembered that much.

The Witcher sighed, keeping a grip on his sword as he stepped through the house, searching for his friend. He didn’t think there was another monster around, but just in case, he’d need to be at the ready.

He stepped through the door into the dining room, sheathing his sword when he saw that the only living thing was Jaskier, although bound to a chair. The bard was facing away from him, and his hands, twisted behind the back of the chair, were stained red where he’d pulled against the chain on his wrists.

Geralt stopped, squinting. The bindings looked suspiciously like the silver chain he saved for use on monsters, but how-

He shook his head, that was a mystery for later. “Jaskier-”

The bard turned, looking over his shoulder, and screamed. “No! No more! Stop!”

“Jaskier, it’s only-”

“Please! I won’t ever sing again! Don’t-”

Geralt crouched in front of him, instinctively making himself smaller, as though dealing with a frightened creature. “Jaskier, it’s only me-”

The bard kicked him in the shoulder.

Geralt stumbled back, landing on his ass and staring up in surprise.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier sobbed. “Don’t hit me, please, oh gods, don’t-” His head drooped, falling onto his chest, and he sobbed softly, still mumbling apologies. Geralt moved behind him, making quick work of the chain on his wrists. It was his silver chain - or something just like it - so he pocketed it. “What happened?”

Jaskier only curled in on himself, sniffling softly.

Deciding that his friend must have been enchanted, Geralt grabbed him, throwing him over his shoulder and stomping out of the house. Roach was waiting outside, and she nickered softly in greeting as Geralt dropped Jaskier onto a bench in the garden.

“You’re enchanted,” he said. “This kind of monster, they can get in your head-”

“I’m not enchanted!” Jaskier shouted. “Oh, oh that explains- Oh fuck, Geralt are you still-” He jumped to his feet, but only made it a few steps before stumbling and falling.

Geralt watched him with a raised eyebrow. “What happened?”

Jaskier rolled onto his back, staring up at him. “Nothing! Nothing happened! Forget it, lets-”

“Jaskier-“ There was a bruise forming under the bard’s eye, and the longer he looked at it, the more it looked like a handprint. His own handprint.

“Please Geralt. Don’t make me-”

“What happened?” he stepped back, falling to sit on the bench. “I blacked out- Jaskier- what did I do-”

“You don’t want to know-”

“I have to know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback, where Jaskier recounts what happened while Geralt was under the monster's spell.

“Stay here,” Geralt said, slipping off Roach and striding into the house.

“But I-” 

“Jaskier.”

“Oh, alright fine. I’ll watch the horse! Jaskier, the mighty pony minder!”

Geralt only snorted slightly at Jaskier’s dramatics, then slipped inside the house. Jaskier watched him go, leaning against Roach and stroking her side. “This,” he said, “is remarkably boring.”

She snorted, but the bard patted her shoulder cheerfully. “Don’t worry after me,” he said. “I’ll take a quick nip inside and be back before our friend ever knows!”

The mare shook her head.

Jaskier pushed open the door to the house slowly, peering inside the dingy space. It had once been a grand house but had fallen into disrepair, no doubt thanks to the creature that lived there.

Inside the house, he found an old table, with chairs still placed around it, as though waiting for the family to return. But strangely, there were long gouge marks in the floor, cutting deep into the wood.

Jaskier squatted down, staring at the marks on the floor. He didn’t have Geralt’s knowledge, but to him, it looked as though something had been stabbed into the wood, then pulled. He frowned, tracing the mark with his fingers.

“Jaskier.” The witcher’s voice was colder than usual and sent a chill up his spine.

“Ah! Geralt!” He jumped to his feet, turning around and flashing a smile at his friend.

“I told you to wait outside.” Geralt crossed the room in only a few quick strides, grabbing the front of Jaskier’s tunic and nearly lifting him off his feet. “Do you ever listen?”

“Ah, no?” Jaskier managed a smile. “I was bored! How am I supposed to-” Geralt dropped his shirt, letting him land on the ground with a soft grunt. “I can’t write a ballad about a creature I don’t see!”

Pain shot through his face. It took a long moment for him to register that Geralt had struck him. He raised his hand slowly, touching his throbbing cheek in shock. “I-“

They’d fought. They’d argued. They’d spit all kinds of horrible curses at one another. But they’d never come to blows, not since Geralt had punched him for calling him a Butcher, and even Jaskier would admit he’d deserved that-

But this?

He didn’t deserve this… did he?

Jaskier let out a soft sob. “Geralt-” he whispered, looking up into his friend’s face. “Geralt, what-”

“I should turn you over my knee,” Geralt threatened. His eyes, which had never bothered Jaskier before, suddenly seemed ominously yellow. “Teach you a lesson in disobeying me.”

“What?” the bard spluttered. “I’m not a child- you can’t-”

“You’re acting like one!” Geralt shouted. “You could have been killed, Jaskier! And for what? Another tuneless song?”

“Tuneless?” he demanded. “How dare-”

He was thrown against the table where he fell with a loud cry, scrambling to get a grip on the wood. Hands were suddenly at his waist. “Don’t-”

His belt was pulled away, his trousers pulled down to his knees, and then a stinging pain the likes of which he hadn’t felt since Temple School shot across his bottom.

Geralt was _strapping_ him.

A part of him almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then, it was happening, and it hurt. A lot.

Jaskier screamed. “Geralt! Geralt, please-”

“Shut up, bard!” Geralt snapped. The belt struck lower, hitting his thighs, and Jaskier clung to the table, crying out in pain. “You and your damnable singing,” he growled. “I give thanks that you’re mortal, so you will die-”

“Enough!” Jaskier sobbed. “Geralt I’m so sorry, please-” The pain was only growing worse with each strike, Geralt’s muscles certainly weren’t for show, and Jaskier coughed and spluttered, moaning and sobbing. He couldn’t bring himself to form words, even to beg, instead, he clung to the table, shaking and sobbing.

_It will be over soon_ , he promised himself. Even Geralt, with a Witcher’s stamina, couldn’t last forever. Soon, the strapping would stop and he could-

Jaskier didn’t want to focus on that, on what would happen once Geralt was done punishing him. He’d be forgiven, wouldn’t he?

He hadn’t even noticed that the belt was no longer falling, not until Geralt grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back and snarling, “I said get up.”

Jaskier pulled himself to his feet, pulling up his pants weakly, wincing as they dragged over his inflamed flesh. “I-” His voice still failed him, every word he tried to form coming out as a sob instead.

He was forced into a chair, despite struggling to escape. “No, no, no!” he sobbed as the Witcher pulled his wrists behind his back. “Please, please, I beg-”

Chain wrapped around his wrists, freezing cold and too strong to break. “Geralt there are monsters-”

“You’ll make good monster bait,” Geralt snarled.

Jaskier’s blood ran cold. “I-”

Geralt grabbed his hair, dragging his head over the back of the chair and forcing him to arch his back. “Keep screaming, it will draw it out sooner.”

He twisted around, trying to keep his eyes on Geralt as the Witcher stormed away. He’d almost convinced himself he deserved the strapping - he had put himself at risk, after all - but this? Geralt would never leave him to die.

Would he?

“Geralt!” he shouted. “Geralt come back!”

But the Witcher was gone, and he was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

“Geralt,” Jaskier said as he finished his tale. “Geralt, are you listening to me?”

The Witcher hadn’t moved through the whole sorry tale, sitting perfectly still as Jaskier told of the abuse. Then he stood, gritting his teeth. “You should go.”

“Geralt! Oh no! Not this again!” Jaskier pushed himself to his feet and - against all better judgment - grabbed Geralt’s arm, pulling the Witcher back. “This is why I wasn’t going to tell you!” cried the bard. “Because you would do- do this! Act all sorry, and as if it was your fault-”

“I tortured you!” He felt sick just admitting it. He still couldn’t remember it, not even with Jaskier describing it in such detail. He couldn’t imagine what could have been going through his own head at the time, and he didn’t want to know.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad! I got much worse thrashings at temple school and I survived that, so I fail to see-”

“Because I’m not your teacher, Jaskier! I’m your-” Geralt hissed, snorting out a breath through his nose.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, almost grinning. “I’m listening.”

“I’m your friend, damn you.”

The bard was unfazed, snorting softly. “Well,” he said, “if I’d know all it would take to get you to finally admit that after - what, a decade? - I’d have found a mind-controlling monster a lot sooner.”

“Fuck you.”

“Look, Geralt,” Jaskier said, “You don’t have to apologize - although, I will accept apologies in wine, or perhaps a night spent at an inn because not all of us can sleep on rocks and branches and-” he shook his head. “What was I saying? Ah! You don’t have to apologize because it wasn’t your fault!”

“It was my fault!”

“How?”

“I don’t know!”

Jaskier threw his hands up in disbelief. “I- I- Geralt, I don’t know what to do with you.”

The Witcher took a deep breath, scanned his eyes over Jaskier, and asked, “Are you hurt?”

Putting his hands on his hips, Jaskier asked, “Well, what do you think, Geralt? Do you know how hard you can hit?”

Geralt pushed himself to his feet, walking to Roach and fumbling in her saddlebags. After a moment he pulled out a vial and passed it to him. “Here,” he said. “This will numb some of the pain. Ah, take all of it.” He’d always been in the habit of carrying non-Witcher potions, but since picking up Jaskier, he’d been carrying more and more of them.

Jaskier popped the cork and swallowed the whole thing in one gulp. “Er, how soon is this going to work?” he asked with a nervous chuckle. “Because I am not going to manage to walk back to town.”

Geralt looked away, fumbling with Roach’s saddlebags. “You can ride.”

“Er, that wouldn’t be better, Geralt.”

Geralt looked at Roach, glanced at the bard, and - before he could talk himself out of it - stooped over and pulled the bard onto his back, with his legs around Geralt’s waist like a strange, noisy backpack. 

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Jaskier yelped, scrambling to adjust himself. “Geralt- this- this is not what I- don’t drop me! Geralt!”

“Damn it, Jaskier!” The bard’s wiggling had nearly thrown Geralt off balance and he swore, stumbling and grabbing onto Roach’s saddle for support. “Arms around my neck, if you don’t want to fall off.”

“If I don’t want to- Geralt! You have to warn people before you put them on your back! Damn it! Ah!”

Roach snorted and shook her head at them.

“Are you comfortable?” Geralt growled once the bard had stopped moving around so much.

“Well, I- yes, I suppose,” Jaskier said, giving a soft grunt.

Geralt only grunted in reply before grabbing Roach’s reins and stomping off into the forest.

“So what about an inn?” asked Jaskier. “You’re getting paid for this right? We should spend the night at an inn.”

“Fine. I could use a bath.”

“You know Geralt,” the bard laughed. “I think you take more baths than anyone else I know. Possibly more than all of them combined.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I just finished this, but now I almost want to write the same situation with book!Geralt and book!Dandelion because book Dandelion is a lil shit and would not be down for Geralt’s mind control nonsense. 
> 
> I’m blaming “Geralt carrying Jaskier on his back” on the fact that I have [this art of Geralt carrying Ciri on his back](https://paticmak.tumblr.com/post/174613970131/the-witcher-drawings-redraws-and-sketches) as my phone background right now.


End file.
